In Tinas Car

I have driven around for an hour.  I have butterflies and damp palms.  I am determined.  I don't want to go home.  I don't want to see him, or face him, or talk to him, or explain myself to him.  I have a gnawing feeling that I will have to, soon.  But not right now.

Right now, I just don't know what to say.

I've driven past the Planet.  I slowed down but thought better of it.  I can't.  If I'm being honest, Im too afraid of what Kit would say, how she would look at me - disappointed, angry.  What would I say in return?

I have driven by Cream four or five times.  It looks the same, except the sign.  Its larger, the lettering spaced farther apart, the letters more angular, more serious.  I look for their cars.  I look for Bette's car.    

I wonder, sadly, if they've gotten new cars.

I take a deep breath, I turn around on La Cienega, I head back towards Melrose.  What's the worst that can happen?  I catch them off guard, but they'll recover.  It's not like I'm going to run into Bette.

I've looked for her car but not because I want to know if shes there  I don't want to know if she's there, I want to know if she'd be there.  There is a distinction and its important and I don't know why, exactly. 

On the floor for two years.

I shake my head, I frown.  I circle the block once more, I park.  I sit back in my seat, I sigh.  I sip from my water bottle.  My cell rings.

Hello?  Yeah.  So, is she ok?  Ok.  What?  I'm sitting outside - never mind.  I'm fine.  I'll be home later.  Later.  I don't know when.  No, not late, just later.  What?  No.  Ok.  Henry?  Um, I'll - I'll call you if I need anything, ok?

I lean my head back, I close my eyes.  He is a good man.  He is a good man but  No.  I can't think one more second about what I don't, I can't, I shouldn't, I didn't, I won't.  I clench my fists.  I push them against the steering wheel, my arms taut, my muscles straining, my knuckles whitening.  I grit my teeth.  I relax my arms.  I grab my purse off the passenger seat, I open the door.

Shane, you first.

What's the question?

Pay attention!  What's the best part about being single?

How the fuck should I know Al?

Come on, there's got to be something. 

Shane stares at Alice.  Jenny grins.  Helena sips her wine, she grins too.  Bette chuckles.  Shanes face reddens.

Somebody else answer. 

Bette?

Why, picking up your own dry cleaning, of course.

Bette winks at Alice, who grins.  Shane looks at Alice, rolling her eyes.  She studies Bette for a moment, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.  Bette catches Shanes gaze, she smiles back.  Shane lifts her glass and tips it towards Bette.

In all seriousness, though, I've found that the best part is not being a disappointment.

Huh?

It's kind of nice Alice, not being someones fuckup.  Not allowing the mere fact of your existence to so obviously and thoroughly disappoint someone else.  There's no one there, so you can be - no, you are - the person you think you are, the person you always hoped you'd be.

Shane nods.

I'm taking that one too, Al.

Oh shit, fine.  Jenny?

I would say it's having the time, the space, the mindshare, to ruminate.

Alice looks incredulous.  The waitress brings more drinks.

Time to chew your food til it's all liquidy so it can slide into one of your five stomachs?

Alice giggles.   Jenny's face remains placid, implacable.

I don't always get that, when I'm, connected, involved, taken, with someone. They have needs, you know?  They take up mindshare, they consume soulspace ...

Helena murmurs into her wineglass.

Oh, lord love a duck.

Bette chuckles, she glances at Helena, who raises an eyebrow, winces slightly and sips her wine.

They want things, things I sometimes would prefer to give myself but I can't, or shouldn't.  Thinking, being, existing - anyway, I miss that.